


Packmother

by naberiie



Category: Star Wars: The Clone Wars (2008) - All Media Types
Genre: Adopted Family Fluff, Fluff, Gen, Plo Koon (Mentioned) - Freeform, Sinker POV, Unspecified Planet, ensava sees the fearsome wolfpack and thinks 'those are my sons now'
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-20
Updated: 2018-04-20
Packaged: 2019-04-25 14:05:30
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,502
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14380215
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/naberiie/pseuds/naberiie
Summary: The Wolfpack is deployed to a distant moon, a stopping point from one mission to the next in a seemingly never-ending chain of civilians who need their help. They do not expect to get anything in return - but this time, they do. Something none of them had ever expected to have: to be calledson, to be welcomed at the hearth.To have a mother.





	Packmother

**Author's Note:**

> Plo also calls the Wolfpack 'sons,' but this is the first time they'd ever been called that by anyone who wasn't their General.

“Brier Ensava wants to meet you.”

Sinker cracked his eyes open. The girl was one of the civvie soldiers; young, maybe twenty standard years, dark circles under her tired eyes, a rifle slung across her back. As dirty and scuffed and exhausted as the rest of the limping militia force they’d come to help on this backwater moon. But she knew how to use the rifle. Sinker had watched her take a potshot off a commando droid from forty paces not two hours earlier. Ophelia, he remembered now. She stood confidently just outside the ring of light from the Wolfpack’s fire, set up a respectable distance from the local militia’s camp, her shoulders squared as she waited for their response.

“Brier Ensava?” Commander Wolffe said in a low voice. The rest of the pack watched quietly as the firewood cracked in the deepening shadows of twilight.

“Brier means elder. Our leader. She wants to meet you.” Her voice was curt, unafraid.

The Commander nodded - General Koon was elsewhere, with local scouts to survey the enemy encampment three clicks south-southwest - and rose. But the girl did not move when the Commander - who stood half a foot taller than her - approached and nodded, ready to move out. She shook her head. “All of you. She wants to meet all of you.”

Sinker hardly had the energy to sit up in confusion - the promise of a few hours rest, even if it was on the cold packed earth, was something he’d been looking forward to for the past thirty-six hours - but the girl, Ophelia, did not budge until the rest of the pack had dragged themselves to their feet. Boost cracked his knuckles, a nervous habit, as Comet stretched. Only then did Ophelia nod and turn, leading them through the rough encampment of the militia, tired eyes following them, leading them to the largest tent pitched in the center. Smoke rose gently from a hole cut in the top of the thick canvas, warm firelight shone through the gaps of the fabric. Despite the rough terrain, something about it exuded peace, warmth, comfort. Two guards stood outside the perimeter. They nodded at Ophelia, let her pass without a word.

Ophelia lifted the light cloth covering the entrance and stepped through, announcing them as she entered first. “Brier Ensava, I’ve brought the Republic troops.”

 _You can just call us clones_. But he appreciated it, nonetheless. Some didn’t even bother with that nicety.

“Oh, excellent, excellent. Thank you, Ophelia,” a voice called out from the depths of the tent. It was even warmer, even more comfortable than its exterior let on. A fire blazed, warm and bright, in the center of the circular tent. An old woman, small, covered in wrinkles but unbowed by time, with silvery hair plaited in thick braids, smiled as they entered. She rose from her seat by the fire - pushing herself up with a cane painted in intricate designs, her hands as gnarled as the wood they rested on - and gestured to the bench nearest her. “Please, sit. I’ve been meaning to ask you to come by for some time.” Her voice was low, cracked and warm, strong despite her years.

Commander Wolffe entered last, and remained standing by the entrance. Ophelia slunk towards the opposite side of the tent, folded her arms, and did not move. Comet, Boost, and Sinker squeezed onto the bench, and only then did Brier Ensava settle back into her chair. Her lips twitched in amusement as she glanced over the four of them stiffly settling in near the fire. “Do you have enough food? Drink?”

Sinker frowned a little - hadn’t she called them here to discuss strategy?

Commander nodded once. “Yes, ma’am. We’ve brought our own rations.”

“Rations,” she repeated flatly. “Those awful tasteless things?” Brier Ensava was as blunt as she was old, Sinker thought with amusement. Of course the ration bars were piss-poor substitutes for real food, but what other option did they have? The Republic certainly wasn’t going to waste resources on decent meals in the middle of a battle.

“...Ma’am.” Commander said curtly in response.

She sighed and shook her head, rapped the wood of her cane as she gestured to the table in next to the bench, and only now did Sinker see that it was covered in bowls of fresh fruits and vegetables, freshly baked bread, and a jug what turned out to be cold, clear water. His stomach growled at once. “Help yourself, go on. I certainly can’t eat all of that by myself.”

Commander did not move, but Sinker - always hungry and never afraid to admit it - took a piece of bread and a handful of small sweet dark berries. Brier Ensava smiled at him, and soon Boost and Sinker had shyly taken portions of their own. He thought maybe he saw Ophelia smile, but then her signature scowl returned.

“That’s better. Now,” Brier Ensava said, rapping her cane once more, “first. I’d like your names, and then I’d like to know what you think of our situation here.”

Sinker hastily swallowed the mouthful of bread as he introduced himself. Her gaze was sharp and clear, and she smiled once they’d all said their names. “Please call me Ensava. Our situation, then?”

Like he’d been waiting for this, Commander immediately launched into a report. “This site is good, protected by the overhang. It should buy us some time before they regroup, and once General Koon returns we’ll know even more. If we can get enough rest, get a decent lay of the land, I’m confident we’ll be able to retake your city within the week, ma’am.”

“That’s good to hear. But…?”

Commander blinked, like he hadn’t expected her to catch onto that unspoken worry. “...But the overhang could be used against us. If the enemy was smart - and we have to assume they are - they’ll use that spot to ambush us. We shouldn’t get comfortable here.”

“Ah. I see. So you suggest moving out early, then, to avoid that risk?”

“Yes, ma’am. While it’s still dark would be best.”

“They do know we’re here.”

“Yes. But we could leave some fires burning, buy us an hour or so to regroup.”

Sinker, popping another handful of berries in his mouth, tried to resist the urge to roll his eyes when Boost glanced over at him. Brier Ensava didn’t want to talk to all of them. They could’ve been resting, at least for a little while, instead of listening to this. They already knew all of this; only the Commander needed to be here.

In her corner, Ophelia was as silent and still as a statue. Sinker wondered why she was still here, too. She looked as exhausted as he felt.

“We could post sentries on the overhang, make sure they don’t catch us by surprise in the meantime.”

“Yes, yes. I had not thought of that. Thank you, Commander Wolffe.”

“It’s our duty, ma’am.”

Brier Ensava gave them a ghost of a smile. And then she sighed, put her hands on top of her cane, and tapped it lightly on the earthen floor. “I’ve not been entirely honest with you. I… I hope you’ll forgive me.”

_Oh._

“...Ma’am?” Commander asked, an edge creeping into his voice, and suddenly Sinker felt tired, so tired. Disappointment laced into his blood - had it all somehow been a trap? A scheme for them to lower their guard, to get the elite Pack into one location and then conveniently off them before the General-

“I didn’t want to talk strategy with you. I didn’t tell Ophelia to bring you here to talk about war. Please,” she held up a hand, like she’d noticed the anxiety that rippled through the pack, “let me explain.”

Commander did not relax, but gave her a tight nod. Sinker’s eyes flashed to Ophelia, still standing in the shadows, watching them watch Ensava. Ophelia’s dark eyes were unreadable. Every part of Sinker’s body tensed for the smug announcement of betrayal, for the approaching fight for their lives - there were no less than sixty-three militia members outside of the tent, more in the forest; they’d somehow have to get word to General Koon - and Sinker longed for rest, for true rest. He was tired of the constant fighting, tired of the fight-or-flight reflexes that never settled.

But he was wrong.

Ensava settled in her chair and began. “I know war is nothing new to you. You’ve seen it, experienced it all over the galaxy at this point. I expect you’ll have a new mission lined up after this one, after you leave our world. But… war is not a stranger to me, either.

“Years ago, before I was clan leader, I was a warrior. War has plagued our moon for generations, and I don’t expect it to end anytime soon. It’s a part of our people, our bloodline. I fought many battles. And then - during a period of peace - I settled down. Had a child. A family. I thought - foolishly, perhaps - that perhaps this peace would last. But all too quickly, the peace shattered. An assassin killed our leader, and so we took up arms again. I was elected to lead, so I did not join my warriors. But my child did.”

Sinker’s heart clenched in his chest. He knew where the story was going. They all did. No one spoke, no one interrupted. They listened, respectful but curious. His heart ached for her, he knew what it was like to lose someone, a brother - _but what does this have to do with us?_

“They were so proud, so eager to help their home, they wanted to help fight for our freedom. I didn’t want them to go; what mother wants her child to march off to war? But I let them go. It’s what they wanted. I couldn’t keep them here forever. I know that, I knew that then, but that didn’t mean it was easy.

“They went off to war one day, and… and the gods saw fit that they never came back home. Despite my prayers. My child, my light… they never came back home to me. I don’t know when or how they died. I lost them, years and years ago, and that pain has never gone away. It’s never closed up, not once. It’s the oldest story in the book, isn’t it? To lose someone to war. It’s an old ache, but it stings like a fresh wound, every single day. And I expect it to continue to do so until I pass on.

“I asked Ophelia to bring you here because… well, because you reminded me of my child. The child I raised, the child I lost. I miss them every minute, every single second of every single day.”

The firewood cracked softly, and for a long while, no one spoke. Ensava's eyes were glazed over, like she was very far away from this place, as she stared into the fire. It cast long shadows around the tent. After a moment, she said softly, “Our people out there? They all have families. Ophelia’s fathers are desperate for her return, for her safety. Everyone in this camp has a reason to fight. A hearth to gather around, once the battle is over.”

She took a steadying breath and went on, “I see my child in you four. But you are not them. I see your pain. You fight for us. You came to help us take back our homes and protect our families. But you…”

She glanced around at the pack, the four men staring at her in silence, eyes wide, leaning forward. The feared, elite Wolfpack hanging on to her every word. Her eyes were full of pain and Sinker felt their losses align; a mother who’d lost their child, men who’d never had a mother in the first place. It was something they tried not to think about - easier said than done - but Ensava's words pulled it to the surface. “You are so brave. You fight, you bleed for us. Gods know you die for us. And I can’t help but think - when I watch you lead our people, care for them, help us to survive another day - how cruel it is that you do not have parents anxiously waiting for you to come back home. Praying to every deity, known and unknown, that you stay safe.”

On another distant planet, Force knows how long ago now - battles blend together in the head after a while, especially if there is little rest to separate them - Sinker had assisted the 501st medic deliver a child. In a city with no power, surrounded by Separatist garrisons, terror and desperation in the air like smoke, he’d handed the newborn to the mother and watched, a strange sort of spiraling jealousy in his gut, as she’d tucked her child close. He’d never seen anyone look at another being that way before. A sort of dazed, wondering, wide-eyed marveled adoration, pure and simple. She’d smiled at her baby in her arms and Sinker had to look away, because he _knew_ that no one had ever held him, or his brothers, like that when they’d been decanted. No one had ever looked at him the way that mother had looked at her newborn. It was like the rest of the universe had stopped for her the moment she took her child in her arms, never mind the enemies, the fear. Nothing else mattered to her anymore, nothing except her child.

But the clones had been made on a cold Kaminoan production line that stopped for nothing, had marveled at nothing. No one in the universe had wondered at their births, had felt blessed when a new clone was decanted.

He hadn’t realized how lonely that was, how cold a reception into life.

Sinker bowed his head and shut his eyes as Ensava said softly, “I know clones do not have mothers. But I’d like to remedy that, for you. If you want, if you’d let me.”

It was quiet in the tent, but Sinker felt Boost’s shoulders quiver next to him. Heard someone sniffle quietly, as his own throat closed up now, as his lip started to tremble. Elbows on his knees, Ensava’s quiet words spread like warmth through his chest.

“I would honored, truly honored, to call you my sons. To give you a hearth to return to, once the battle is done.”

When he opened his eyes again, Ensava was staring at them - at _him_ \- with that same adoration in her clear eyes.

And she smiled, stood slowly, her joints cracking, and shuffled over to him; he sat the closest to her. Boost watched, his eyes glistening, silence heavy yet hopeful in the enclosed space of the tent, as Brier Ensava cupped Sinker’s face in her ancient hands.

“My son,” she murmured. Sinker’s breath caught in his lungs, his hands started to shake, as she leaned forward and gently, warmly, kissed the top of his head. “Welcome home.”


End file.
